Photoshoot

I love, love so much the way my daughter draws facial expressions. They’re always so animated!

eboy inkling go [squid noises] 

Self-fulfilling prophecy

I’ve discussed before that I administer my Estradiol via intramuscular injection; and that sometimes this does not go to plan. This is not the only HRT-related mishap that I have experienced.

The first few months of injections were without issue.

Thereafter, I started to experience increasing amounts of pain with each shot; and in turn, I became more and more reluctant to - you know - actually stick the needle in my leg.

On the fifth go-around, I realized that I was breaking one of the (many) cardinal rules my endocrinology clinic had educated me on: don’t tense up! A tense muscle is a dense muscle; and it takes a lot more effort (and subsequently, discomfort) to push a needle through the tissue. My desire to avoid pain was, ironically, the cause of a great deal of pain!

I learned to relax, and not to hesitate when sticking myself (seriously, it’s like ripping off a Band-Aid - quick and forceful is so much more tolerable than slow and steady)!

I’m not going to pretend that popping the needle in is fun by any stretch; but it’s tolerable. If I have to do this twenty-eight times a year, between now and eternity, to attain True Girl Form... That’s a price I can live with!

1. Double digits and upwards? That makes you a prolific fic author, my friend! (And I’m all for having multiple pokers in the fire at once; variety being the spice of life, and that.)

2. As someone that types so much faster on keyboard than a touchscreen: I salute you!

(Good call on the use of various online resources as research tools, too! I believe it was Charles Stross that once commented that one of his most-used avenues of research - in a very literal sense - was Google Street View.)

3. I have a friend that is an incredible musician; and she operates under the ethos that:

a. We live in an era of unparalleled, Internet/enabled access to content; where small artists are inevitably drowned out by the sheer volume of output on offer. However:

b. This is why it is so vital for small artists to create, first and foremost, for themselves; to make art that is weird, and wonderful, and unconventional: because the Internet connects artists with those that appreciate their art. ❤️

Regarding the fanfic asks: 📈, 🛠️, and 🤗!

📈 How many fics do you have?

Uh. UH. I... they're kind of spread over a few different areas, and are we counting only active fics?

Upwards of ten active WIPs. I don't want to chase down every WIP I have somewhere, or even the completed little one shots.

🛠What tools/programs/apps do you use to write?

I do ninety percent of my writing in gdocs. It's quick, easy, and I can do it on my phone because I'm a madlad.

In terms of 'tools', just stuff for names. I've been using a lot of wiktionary to research the meaning behind various kanji to help create names for Naruto/Bleach, and occasionally even get to use it for some wordplay. Otherwise, random name generators, behindthename, top 100 baby names - that kind of stuff.

🤗 What advice would you give to new fanfic writers that are just getting started?

This kind of goes for any writer or creative but: create for yourself first. Pleasing your audience is great! It feels great! But don't chase them.

Make something for yourself first, be happy with it, satisfied, and let that be enough. And then, if people like it, that's great! If they don't, well, who cares? You didn't make it for them.

Nominally I’m not in the habit of reblogging (nothing against it; I just prefer to create myself) but Nick is not only an incredibly talented artist, he’s also an amazing human being and deserves so much love!

Collection of Nick Robles Nightcrawler, for…uhh…art reasons.

Absence

Apologies for not being particularly present of late; I’ve been dealing with some frustrating health issues.

As I noted previously, I was gifted a cold by a coworker in early December. The following week I contracted another respiratory virus. This was was rather more severe:

First, it induced acute bronchitis; the net effect of which is that I ended up in the ER with an oxygen saturation level of 85%. The blood tests, EKG, and chest X-ray all came back clear; so I was discharged with antibiotics and a course of steroids.

The day after, the virus began to affect me neurologically. My long-term memory, short-term memory, and focus all started to wane. I developed a sensation of weakness in my arms, palpitations, insomnia, severe anxiety, and an impending sense of doom.

The palpitations, anxiety, and sense of doom thankfully receded. Unfortunately, I also lost the ability to regulate my temperature and my blood pressure when changing position.

It looked like I was over the worst of it, until I spontaneously developed neuropathy in my lower limbs. That earned me another trip to the ER, where they ruled out - in their words - “Anything super-deadly”. (I also got my first ever IV catheter, which I found kind of annoying; and a lumbar puncture, which was pretty interesting!)

The neuropathic symptoms have also receded somewhat; but the weakness in my left arm has grown worse, and now there’s a tremor in my second and third fingers. I’m currently waiting on additional neurological tests to determine the cause (’waiting’ being the operative word; after all, heaven forbid I have an MRI without my health insurer getting to sign off on it first)!

I know where a lot of people’s minds are going to go given the timing, and I don’t blame them; but: it wasn’t COVID. Two antigen tests, three PCR tests, and a nucleocapsid antibody test all indicate that this was a routine respiratory virus that just got completely out of control.

Two fun sidebars though:

First: between the tests from last year’s check-up, and the tests from the ER, I discovered that my lymphocyte numbers are routinely low. As measures go, it’s not a one-to-one predictor of immune health; but it does suggest that there’s something not quite right with my immune system, and that this might explain why even minor illnesses cause me significant secondary issues.

Second: I’ve written at length about how COVID tests set off my PTSD. (It’s not a rational reaction; but one borne of my younger self confusing their invasive and required nature with past violations of my bodily autonomy.)

The second go-around at the ER, the nurse performing the test was extremely thorough and as a result, I experienced arguably the most discomfort of any test to date. However, I was able to manage the situation well; in large part, I now recognize, because that selfsame nurse had a warm and sympathetic bedside manner.

That leads me to think that it’s less the physical discomfort of these acts that I find triggering; and more that they are being performed without care or consideration for my person. I’m still trying to make sense of the ramifications of this insight; but it’s beginning to seem like the core of the problem is that I’ve been dehumanized in the past, and this is what I’m so afraid of happening again.

If you see this you’re legally obligated to reblog and tag with the book you’re currently reading

Unexpected HRT side-effect #15

My HRT regimen is an emulation, only simulating the real thing. Cis women experience a complex, month-long dance between estrogen and progesterone, swinging from one to the other and back again. I, on the other hand, experience an estrogen peak every two weeks, and a progesterone peak every quarter.

And that's okay! It's gotten the job done.

Sometimes however, my peaks and troughs happen to look just enough like an actual cis cycle to trigger some fascinating side effects.

This one occurred a few weeks ago. My day started as normal; but something seemed off. I got to work, and began to experience stomach cramps. My first thought was that I must have consumed some disagreeable foodstuff; but this was different - the sensations were prickly; and extended all the way into my pelvis.

It wasn't until lunch time, as I was driving my daughter home from summer school, that it came to me: these were menstrual cramps!

My hormone levels had aligned in such a way that my brain was now sending instructions down my existing nerve pathways to forcefully contract a non-existent uterus...

This state of affairs continued for two days; with what I can only describe as various muscle groups from the top of the abdomen all the way down to the thighs randomly and constantly pinging, eliciting a continuous stream of "Ow! Ow!" noises.

Now: is this exactly what cis women experience? I have no idea. Did the lack of uterus effectively cap the amount of discomfort I felt? Or did it cause the nerve signals to be redirected into other adjacent muscles, making their contractions worse? It's so hard to say.

What I do know is this: I already had a healthy respect for the unpleasantness of menstrual cramps as experienced by others; but this situation made for a very personal window into that world that really reinforced my prior understanding!

Addendum: there is a candy dish in my office that is periodically emptied, and refilled; fortuitously, its contents had been refreshed the day this all went down. My very audible "Oh, thank god!" drew laughter from one of the people that worked nearby and knew what I was going through!

Purges

A friend introduced me to Andrea Jenkins and her powerful work “Eighteen”; and I recall thinking to myself “Well, at least I can be thankful I never purged my belongings.

Then I remembered that I threw out my dress because I was convinced I wasn’t going to live much longer (i.e. experiencing a particularly strong episode of passive suicidal ideation) and needed to make sure nobody would find it when sorting through my belongings.

The more I think about this, the more I realize there have been other times in my pre-out life when I’ve permanently disposed of items; either because my self-esteem had hit rock bottom and I was in full “I’m a monster” mode, or because I feared their discovery (or both).

I suppose it’s better that I’m being honest about this with myself; but all the same, it’s not a happy set of realizations.

Tests

Every six months I have my hormone levels tested. I take a lab order from my endocrinology office, pop into a local clinic, have blood drawn, and see my endocrinologist a week later to review the results.

It was during today’s review that we discovered the lab had missed a test. It was okay - my provider was still able to make sense of the results.

However, I did give the clinic a call to find out what happened. I really, really like them - they are very pleasant to deal with, there’s no waiting, and their pricing is very reasonable.

However, this is the third time something like this has happened; so I gave them a call to figure out what the problem was and what I could do to avoid it in future.

Her: “Hi, this is [the laboratory]. How can I help you today?” Me: “Hi, this is Lauren. I think I might be missing a test result?” Her: “Well let’s see if we can find it for you, Ms. Lauren.”

I already like this person - calling me ‘miss’ instantly melts my heart!

Her: “Can I have your date of birth?” Me: “Sure, it’s- oh god, I just remembered I’m forty again.” Her: *Laughter* Her: “That’s okay! Welcome to the club.”

Seriously, this is one of the best personal interactions I’ve had all day!

Her: “So what test do you think you’re missing, Ms. Lauren?” Me: “Uh... testosterone.” Her: “Oh. Oh!” Me: “Yeah... Probably the last one you would have guessed!” Her: *More laughter*

It took some digging through their records, but this wonderful person helped me figure out that my lab order did indeed have a testosterone reading on it, and that this was overlooked. (Most likely because the lab order is a piece of paper that the blood draw technician is required to read and then re-enter into a terminal; there’s much lost between finger and screen!)

Going forward, I’ll be keeping a much closer eye on which tests were ordered and what was actually entered into the system - hopefully that way nothing else gets missed!

Dancing

I did not dance in in my past life. At various points I was cajoled into the act, which resulted in a display lacking any kind of gracefulness or aesthetic pleasure.

I played a lot of Dance Dance Revolution, which I love dearly but resembles actual dancing in much the same way that Jazzercise resembles actual jazz.

Post-HRT, I found myself spontaneously dancing; while enjoyable for me however, I doubt the end result was particularly enjoyable for anyone else.

Recently my spouse has made a point of impromptu slow-dancing with me. This is not a new thing per se; but they have very sagely opted to start taking the lead.

That’s how I found myself this afternoon, hand in hers, eyes closed. It was then that I experienced what I can only describe as a profound moment of rightness, and I was so overcome that I burst into tears and was rendered speechless.

I can’t stop thinking about it. For one, singular moment, I didn’t feel like a work in progress; or an imposter; or a woman with an asterisk over her gender. I felt like a girl; the girl I always had been and will be.

I look forward to more moments like this!